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12.9.06

Lot's Wife.

It occurs to me I don't know really know anyone anymore. Matt and I got to bitching over the weekend that we keep looking back at life like ex-jocks. Telling ten year old stories. It's a 15 year jacket by now, and we're not as sick of that as we should be.

Again, talking to Matt; "We're not getting any good stories."

"What do we do, get drunker?"

Amen. The gospel according to two drunks. There isn't a whole lot of crazy shit (that I'm willing to do) left. Murder for kicks is out. Beastiality is just mean. I think Cheryl would take offense to necrophilia and the rest I've either done or I'm leaving for the shock rockers and death metallers.

(here I go again but)I remember being semi-royalty in this fucking town. I knew everyone and now I go get a drink with Matt or Chris. Not knocking either of them, but there was at one point an intimidating volume of the alright ones and an ass load of hangers on that I didn't really like, but they were there. We rolled pretty hard. We had a crew. We were down.

We were sad and ugly and broken and loud about it. Proud of every scar.

Gratefully, the true princes/princesses of the galaxy are still in my life. They can make our world a small planet and I will still know the administration. These are the ones left to love, the singers of songs and the brightest stars in orbit.

We're still broken, ugly and sad. We're still proud, but our voices are lower in maturity. I expect you to lean in when I speak-I don't come to you anymore. I guess it's the difference between the angry young man I was and the angry older guy I've become, I'm pissed, but I don't have a whole lot to say about it.